


Golden

by flowerinthedistance



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bittersweet, Character Death, Gen, Hogwarts Era, One Shot, Post-Hogwarts, The Golden Trio, a bit depressing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 11:26:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15706278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerinthedistance/pseuds/flowerinthedistance
Summary: Or, five times the trio were together.'Before they meet, they dream of seeing their names written in gold.'





	Golden

**Author's Note:**

> Prepare for a depressing homage to the golden trio :)  
> (originally posted on ff.net, reworked to be posted here)

Before they meet, they dream – dreams of freedom, of cleverness, of success. The boy, trapped by his aunt and uncle; the girl, teased for her books; the brother, never living up to his siblings’ achievements. The unlikely trio. 

Before they meet, they dream of seeing their names written in gold.

-o-

The troll falls at their feet, and the three seem to breathe as one. She lies to get them out of trouble – her, of all people – and they thank each other back in the common room. It’s short and awkward, but the smile she greets them with the next morning seems to shine as if it’s made of gold. 

Together, they enter the Great Hall, and it feels like the start of something. 

-o-

It takes them time. They fight a lot, but they laugh a lot more, and they become close. But it takes time, and they lose a lot to get there. Love and family, mostly, but also hope. It all seemed so simple, back when they faced chess boards and flying keys, but now it’s formidable toad-faced teachers and a world that doesn’t want to believe it’s in danger.

Nothing changes, it seems, and they choose to fight in their own way. They form an army – her idea, naturally, but they become just as enthusiastic – and it feels good to actually _do something_. He’s a surprisingly good teacher, and they feel as though they could face anything. 

When the time comes, it’s not how they imagined. The Death Eaters are far more powerful, and easily deflect the Stunning spells they’d spent so long mastering. They are rescued by the Order, lucky that the worst injuries are to their confidence. 

But he loses more than that. His godfather, the closest he had to a family, gone. They don’t know what to say to him, and silence isn’t something they’re used to. But eventually, he heals, and hope heals with him. They need it, because they can feel a war coming. 

Together, they stand to watch it roll in.

-o-

The Battle has ended and they cling to each other, sharing arms and sharing grief until all they feel is numb. No one interrupts them to share their gratitude or sympathy, not even to ask them to move because they’re standing in the midst of the injured and dead. After everything, the least they deserve is to be left alone. 

Fatigue hits them without warning and they drag themselves to the Gryffindor Tower, supporting each other’s weight better than their own. 

“It’s alright,” they say to her, but she insists on sleeping in the girls’ dorm. Somehow, she still cares about the rules. They almost smile at that, and bid each other goodnight. 

It’s funny, the other two think tiredly, that the last time they slept here, they had been boys. It didn’t feel that way anymore, and they doubted it ever would again. 

“Mate?” one says, in those moments before sleep. 

“Mm?” 

“This whole bloody thing is real, isn’t it?” he asks, and there’s a pause. 

“Yeah, it is.” 

Together in the dark, they wonder whether that’s a good thing.

-o-

On the fiftieth anniversary of the end of the Second Wizarding War, they sit at a kitchen table, reading the page in _The Prophet_ titled ‘The Golden Trio Through the Years’. It’s nothing like they remember; they feel like they’re reading about three strangers, people they’ve never known.  


The pictures are a different story, though. In some way, those do seem familiar. Like long-forgotten friends or words that are caught on the tips of tongues.  


Gradually, they share small smiles and offer up memories, and he – the one they coined The Boy Who Lived – reaches out a wrinkling hand to touch their printed faces.  


“Were we?” she says, regarding the headline again.  


“What?” is their answer. It would have been funny, in another time, but they’re used to it by now.  


She looks up. “Golden.”  


And they are silent, because they really don’t know.  


She just nods and takes their hands, understanding like she always does. They squeeze back, and then she turns over the page dedicated to the people they once were.  


Together, they read through the war obituaries that are listed on the other side. 

-o-

Their graves lie together in the churchyard of Godric’s Hollow. People visit, and they place flowers and they cry, because it felt like they really knew the children who defeated He Who Must Not Be Named.  


Some of them – friends, family – remember far more than headlines and battles. Sometimes they smile, happy in the knowledge that now, at least, the three friends can finally forget.  


In the early morning, though, there is no one there to see them. And as the sun rises over the graveyard, there is a moment – just _then_ , when the light hits the stone – that their names are carved in gold.  


Together, alone for a moment, they find that they can finally sleep.

-o-

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! Feedback is welcome in the comments, if you like x  
> 


End file.
